Looking back on our early days with our now two-year-old twins, there aren’t too many things I’d do differently. (Well, maybe hire a night nurse!) But one thing that stands out in my mind that I would have changed if I could, is taking one baby out for an outing more often.

I recall having friends ask how often my husband and I would split up with our kids. At the time, I filed these comments into “you don’t understand because you don’t have twins” category. On days when my husband and I were both around, we pretty much operated as a family of four. We did all activities together, or were cooped up in our house together. It felt essential to have both sets of hands on deck for both kids at all possible times. For those necessary tasks like running to the grocery store, which, sadly became our “me” time for the first year, one parent would grin and bear it for an hour, while the other blissfully strolled the aisles solo. This made perfect sense to us: it’s not “easy” to bring just one of the babies on errands, so why wouldn’t we leave both kids at home if we had the option?

However, now that our kids are older, we split up much more often. We’ll take one on an errand alone, or on a special outing, and the kids light up at that grocery store, like we took them to Disneyland. (They do often end up shouting the other twin’s name, and/or the absent parent’s name, on the outing, looking for them. But, it still is so precious to see how excited they get to have their own trip with mom or dad.)

It makes me feel sad that I didn’t realize earlier how special that solo time would feel to them. Arguably, maybe they were too young to have the awareness of this separation before we started doing it. But, still, I think there may have been value in us splitting up with them before they did recognize it. So much of the first 18 months or so of parenting twins was filled with anxiety for me. Looking back, I think if I had ventured out on my own with one baby more often, it would have built some confidence in me that would eventually have led to adventures with both babies. I think it also would have led to less mommy guilt: ie, since an hour at the store was my “me” time, I wasn’t “allowed” other time alone. If we’d divided up with baby, maybe I’d have done more sans baby for mommy. Lastly, I think it may have been healthier to split them up more than we did, allowing them to be their own person, even if just for an hour.

Katie is a working mom of 2-year-old twins, who makes too many trips to the grocery store, with or without kids!

Last fall, when my kids were only 13 months old, I won the lottery by learning my work was going to support me in becoming a certified yoga teacher. I work as a therapist at an adolescent and family therapy program, and we wanted to begin incorporating yoga into our programming. (Think, “Yoga for anxiety,” and the like.)

On the one hand, I was completely thrilled. I’d practiced yoga regularly for over a decade and always played with the idea of becoming a certified yoga teacher. Now my work was in support of it. But, on the other hand, I felt stretched so thin already, as a working mother of 13 month old twins. How would I balance this, too? Yoga classes have long been my place for a little “me time,” a place to feel strong and connected to my body. Would it still feel like sacred time once it was incorporated into my work?

I quickly learned that this four month long training was no joke! Requirements included quite a bit of reading, two classes at our studio each week, a half hour of daily meditation, an hour of practice at home, and a full day at the studio each week. Right off the bat, I felt conflicted. I already had some mommy guilt over the time I spent away from my kids at work each week. But, this was a significant amount of additional time away from them… not to mention the added responsibilities this put onto my husband.

I found myself wishing this opportunity came a little later, when my kids were older, and I could focus on it a bit more. I was so incredibly jealous of those for whom this training was their sole focus: no kids to take care of, no job to juggle, and all the time in the world (it seemed to me on the outside) to devote to their yoga practice. In fact, I still feel a bit this way. Thankfully, I was provided the space to process these feelings with the other people in my training. The experience made me think a lot about mommy guilt: something I never really understood pre-kids. I would never give a friend grief about taking this time away from her kids, so why was I giving myself such a hard time?

When I think of other moms taking “me time”, I think, “Good for them! They’re setting a great example for their kids. They’re showing their kids they’re more than just ‘Mom.’” Of course, my kids were too young to really understand why mommy was going to yoga school, or for me to set an example for them about taking care of myself.

Even though I still wish I could have gone through my training when I was stretched a little less thin, I know that there probably is not a time like this in the foreseeable future.

The yoga teacher training gave me one very incredible gift: it enriched my time at work. Now that I am able to incorporate something that I love into my job (which I also love), it does make my time away from my kids feel more like “me time” and a little less like making a living. And when I do have the time to sneak away to a yoga class or practice at home when my kids are napping, my practice is also much deeper, leaving me a more relaxed mommy when they wake up. Everyone wins.

From August 31 to September 4, 2015, How Do You Do It? is running a series on “me time” for mothers: why we need it, how we make it, what we do with it. Find the full list of posts on the theme week page.

I was not a person who had a lot of experience with babies before having my own. I actually am fairly certain that the first diaper I ever changed was one of my own babies’ in the hospital. I didn’t know the distinction between newborns and infants, googled the difference between infants and toddlers, and I’m sure someday I’ll be confused by what makes a “tween.”

Our twins are now nearly 21 months old and we still refer to them as “the babies.” A quick Wikipedia search tells me that a child becomes a toddler when they’re between the ages of one and three. Our experience of crossing over into Toddlerville has been a sensory one. Let’s focus on three of those senses today.

Sound

I’d love for someone to keep tabs on how many times in one week my husband or I say, “I can’t hear you.” This is stated while one or the other is talking and is inevitably interrupted by one of our kids shouting, grunting or whining to communicate what it is they want. They do have a few words in their arsenal (I use the collective “their,” because they seem to say words for the first time at the same time!) but they seem to first try shouting at us or each other.

Ironically, one of the things we made a point of, pre-children, was making the effort in our house to walk to where the other person was to talk, rather than shouting room to room when we were going about our business in our house. It’s like our kids knew this courtesy that we had for each other, and squashed it in those cute, chubby hands on purpose. Their caveman communication seemed to evolve over time, but in retrospect, is markedly different than the distinctly infant coos.

Sight

Sight can be broken down into two categories. First, what our kids can now observe. Back in those hazy infant days, I could eat a rice krispie treat while my kids ate dinner, with them none the wiser. Nowadays, if they see me do that, the aforementioned shouting/whining begins until each has a rice krispie treat in hand. (My husband makes the BEST treats, and they’re around regularly!) Hence, we’ve noticed modeling appropriate behavior (like, not eating dessert first??) has become more important.

Secondly, what I see in my kids’ behavior. One example coming to mind: getting the bath ready, changing poopy diaper of boy toddler, while I watch my daughter take my kindle, run into the bathroom, and chuck it into the filling bathtub. I could give countless examples of seeing the mischief these two are already getting into. But, it’s also seeing their faces light up as they discover new things, like the birds using the birdhouse on our porch, now that spring is finally returning.

And TOUCH

I looked at a photo the other day from the infant days and noticed I had big picture frames on a low shelf in our house. Doesn’t that sound luxuriously decorative? These toddlers want to touch everything! In fact, I would say that the times I feel most frantic as a mom of twin toddlers is when they’re both into EVERYTHING at the same time-one might be emptying out the contents of the nightstand next to our bed, while the other is pulling toilet paper off the roll. One time I was attempting to put laundry away in the same room as them and my son ran into the room and jumped in front of me, with a tampon in one hand and scissors in the other, so proud of his discoveries. Mind you, drawers that contain these things have child locks on them, which brings us back to sight, and them watching how to undo the locks.

Not quite as simple as Wikipedia’s definition, but a bit more fun to reflect on.

Katie is a working mother of 20-month-old b/g twins, eating too many rice krispie treats and loving introducing them to her kids, even when that bites her in the bum.

When you’re pregnant with twins, everyone tells you how hard the first year is. When your twins turn one, everyone congratulates you on surviving the first year. My twins will be 18-months old soon and I’m still waiting for it to get easier. Sure, some things are a little easier. They (usually) sleep through the night. They’re starting to use a few words to communicate their needs. They occasionally will entertain each other for a minute or two. But, by the way people talked up this first year milestone, I guess I expected the skies to part a little more than they have! And what little break in the clouds there was, was filled with climbing dining room chairs to stand on tables, power struggles over getting into the high chair, stranger danger so intense that no one can babysit other than grandma and grandpa, consistent 5am wake ups, and my personal favorite: mastering the babyproofing in the kitchen (mental image of my son pulling out the large stockpot and pushing it through our kitchen and living room day in and day out). Last week, a mom of three-year-old twins confessed, after watching our chaos, “Oh, I HATED 18-months.” I wanted to shout, “What?!? You people promised it’d be easier by now! I’ve been duped!”

One particular aspect of mothering twins that has continued to surprise me is how daunting it is to take them anywhere on my own. Again, I was hopeful this would get a little bit easier once they could walk; being able to hold hands to walk to the car as opposed to carrying two infant carseats, etc. However, it still feels nearly impossible to go anywhere with the two little monkeys where there isn’t a person on the other end willing to help me. This seems to be one of the biggest areas in which I feel so different, I imagine so much more isolated, than a mom of singletons. The jealousy I felt more often when my babies were little creeps in a little bit when I’m sweaty and frustrated trying to wrangle my two at a play group, and a mom of one child of the same age as mine sips her coffee and makes a new friend.

Several months ago I wrote a post on here about deciding whether to have another baby after twins. That was eight months ago. If you’d asked me then if I thought I’d be closer to a decision by now, I would have said, definitely, still believing in the myth of the one-year epiphany. But I’m starting to wonder if it EVER feels any easier and if I will even have the energy for my two that I DO have. (The optimist in my feels the need to balance all this out with stories of them starting to give each other hugs, belly laughs playing together in the bathtub and snuggles on the couch. There IS that balance, of course. If there wasn’t, the question of one more wouldn’t be. I guess I just expected the scales to tip a little further in favor of the lovelier moments. Do they ever??)

One thing within my control that I am doing to survive toddlerhood with twins is scaling back my expectations. My New Years resolution is: “Simplify.” This fall was the busiest I’ve ever been in all parts of my life, and I realize this contributes to my frustration. Ultimately, my kids are number one. While there is a touch of disappointment that I cannot make a social get together, or take on one more thing at work, if saying no to these things gives me the patience to see the amusing side of the mischievousness in our house, I’ll take the disappointment with a smile.

Next week, my little monkeys will be ONE! That one saying is so true. What is it again? The days go slowly, but the weeks and months fly by, or something like that? The other night my husband and I were watching photos float by on a slideshow from the past year. While it’s impossible to adequately describe the first year with twins, a few of these moments help summarize the roller coaster.

Exhaustion

Photo: both 8-week-old babies are in just a diaper, passed out on my husband, who is also asleep. My son’s arm is draped over the face of my daughter, whose mouth is wide open. Everyone looks exhausted. I recall this night in particular, because it was taken at the end of the first night we decided to “try” one of us going out for a few hours during the “witching hour.” This witching hour was so very real in our house between about 5 weeks-13 weeks or so. This particular night they started crying about 10 minutes after my husband left the house (of course), and they seemed to ratchet each other higher and higher on the scale of hysteria for the next 45 minutes until I called him, beckoning him home. I still have no idea what got them so upset, but it was one of those nights where I needed to put them each in their crib and walk away for a good 3-5 minutes because I truly did not know how to calm them. Eventually they stop crying for just as mysterious of reasons as why they started. I still feel shell shocked by those first few months with two infants. I can almost still feel the anxiety, counting the time until I’d need to go pump or breastfeed two babies again, or feel the burn in my sleep-deprived eyes.

Joy

Photo: taken after a bath, and the babies were laying side by side, and my son reached out and was touching my daughter on the arm. She smiled back at him. They were about 5 months old and it was taken on our first trip (see also: only) with the kids. (We really took on the challenge of a first vacation with infant twins: Cold weather. Over Christmas. Staying at high altitude. Attempting to take turns to go skiing.) It wasn’t likely the first time they connected like that, but I do think it was the first one we caught on camera. It captures the hope that I have for a close relationship between them and the warmth I feel in my heart when I see the connection between them.

Fear

My heart aches and is filled with gratitude simultaneously when I see the photo of my son smiling, holding a small box of cheerios in a hospital gown, the morning after our first night (and, hopefully, only for a very long time) in the hospital a few weeks ago after he took a bad fall and sustained a head injury. We spent the night saying prayers that all would be okay, while we realized the vicarious pain one can feel for their child, as a parent. Seeing this photo, even just a few weeks after, makes me so grateful that he is okay. I’m almost equally as fearful of other accidents and illnesses that no doubt lie down the road for us as a family. I was warned about how you experience pain when your children hurt, but it is truly something you cannot understand until going through it.

Fascination

Photo: my daughter standing, holding onto the collar of our 8-year-old pitbull-boxer mix makes me giggle. I remember coming around the corner and catching her standing there with our dog, who patiently sat and let our daughter examine her “necklace.” Mind you, she cannot walk yet, so this means she crawled over and pulled herself up on our dog’s collar. Her fascination with jewelry has begun early, as has her love of feeding this doggy all her vegetables. This photo captures the delight and fascination I feel as I watch these kids discover their world and learn new skills every day. It’s incredible to watch them stand for the first time, or make a new sound and see their faces light up with pride.

And, that has been the emotional cycle of the past 12 months: Exhaustion, Joy, Fear, Fascination, or some derivative of these feelings. I truly wish I could stop time for a day or at least an hour to really reflect on the ways life has changed and motherhood has changed me in the last year. But, for now, a post like this will have to do.

Katie has b/g twins that will be one next week. She lives in Chicago and balances full-time work, being a mom and training for a sprint triathlon for which she regrets signing up.

There are so many topics on which I could write a Twinfant Tuesday post. But, a topic that goes round and round in my head is the topic of “How to decide whether or not to have another baby (after twins).”

Of course, this decision is completely individualized per family and not one you can give advice on. I’ve debated whether or not to post about this on HDYDI, since some friends and family periodically read this. But, screw it. This is honestly what’s on my mind. And I’m curious how others answered this question for themselves.

It’s fascinating to me to talk to friends about how they decided when their family was “complete.” For some, it seems the number of kids was predetermined around the time of marriage: “Well, Joe comes from a family of three kids and I’m an only child, so we’ve always known we’d have two kids.” And that’s that. For others, it seems a very calculated decision: “With my income, divided by the cost of two college educations, multiplied by inflation to the second power, subtract my 401K…” For another group, it seems to be more an emotional decision: “What if we only have two and they don’t get along when they’re older? Three increases the chances that two will get along at any given time, and at least one will take care of me when I’m old.”

Of course, many people have made the cliché comment: “You had a boy/girl set of twins. Instant family! You’re done, right?” It’s been amusing to see how many people feel comfortable commenting on our family size. I can’t seem to remember what our expectations around family size were before infertility and having twins. The expectations apparently flew out the window when we had a hard time conceiving on our own and had twins.

I try to stay as mindful as possible with my almost 10-month twins during the waking hours and set all of this aside. I snap a gazillion photos. I giggle along with them, as they tackle each other and belly laugh. I close my eyes and take a deep breath when they snuggle with me to steal a sniff of their baby smell. But, when these little loves go to sleep, this question often crosses my mind. I make mental pros/cons lists. I say a little prayer of gratitude that infertility treatments left us in a place of being able to consider having more, while also wondering if we’d be “done,” like so many seem to want us to be, if we’d conceived twins on our own. Even though friends with singletons think we’re nuts to think about more, especially when our twins are ten months old, I do feel a clock ticking to make this decision.

If you had twins first, what was your experience like of deciding whether or not to have more children? What factors came into play?

When I found out I was pregnant with twins, I urgently googled everything about twin pregnancies. I started writing on this website. I joined our local moms of multiples group. When people told me I needed to talk to so-and-so who is a mom of twins, I took every phone number or email address. Stories of sleepless nights were swapped over (a quick) coffee in during maternity leave with local twin mommas, and my first night “out” was to a meet n’ greet for my MoM group when my babies were 7 weeks old. When I was stressed, I turned to this blog, other twin websites, or emailed other parents of twins. I gritted my teeth when parents of kids who are 16 months apart say it’s “just like having twins.” While nearly all of my friends are moms, I rarely reached out to them, thinking they won’t “get” it, or I wouldn’t feel the same connection as I would with someone who has lived this experience.

However, I’ve noticed recently, that I’ve not had the interest to attend the new moms’ coffees, and while I’ve reflected on dozens of different topics on which to write a blog post, they’re related less and less to a solely twin mom experience. When did this happen? All the sudden, it seems I see myself just as a “mom,” with the “twin” qualifier no longer being the first and foremost descriptor of my experience. All the things that made new motherhood harder with two babies (feeding two at one time, having two babies wake up in the middle of the nights instead of one, not being able to manage getting two babies out of the house on my own) still apply. I still felt that having two is truly the challenge of a lifetime that you can only understand if you’ve been through it. (I also still don’t think that having two kids 16 months apart is the same thing as having twins!) But, it seemed less important to me to try to explain it to others. Could it be that I’m becoming more confident, knowing that I’m doing all I can and trying my hardest, regardless of how hard others think it is? Or is it that, now that my babies are smiling, interacting with each other, communicating with us, I’m experiencing double the reward, as well? Is it that, I’ve found my support (some mothers of multiples and some not) and that feels sufficient? I can’t quite put my finger on it.

A similar phenomenon I’ve noticed, is that, while others used to turn to me pretty frequently with their struggles, friends of mine with young babies are not venting to me about their experience. Rather, they’ll start to, and quickly cut themselves off saying, “I feel bad complaining to you,” or, “No matter how tired I am, I’m sure you’re more tired.” Let’s be honest, they may be right. But, are we not all struggling with the same thing here? Whether we’re moms of quads or singletons, five kids or only children, aren’t we all, essentially, wanting to feel like others validate our struggles, understand what we’re going through, and celebrate the joys of parenthood along with us?

Identity is something I’ve thought much about, both in forming my own, and how I hope to help guide my kids in this process. How important is the “multiple” part in your identity of being a mom of multiples? Is it sometimes more predominant than the “mom” part, or is it just an adjective?

In the United States, 1 in 9 babies is born prematurely, 1 in 10 in Canada. Worldwide, over 15 million babies are born too soon each year. While not all multiples are born prematurely, a multiple birth increases the probability of an early delivery. Babies born prematurely, before 37 weeks gestation, are at a higher risk for health complications in infancy, some of which can have long-term effects. Full-term infants are not all free from their own health complications, of course.

In honor of November’s Prematurity Awareness Month, led by the March of Dimes, How Do You Do It? is focusing this week’s posts on The Moms’ experiences with premature deliveries, NICU stays, health complications, special needs, and how we’ve dealt with these complex issues.

Back when I was in my first trimester, pregnant with our twins, I wrote on here asking other MoMs how I could still work with a midwife and try to have a vaginal birth after being told that I needed to see an OB and deliver in the OR. Some of the feedback I received was to accept what I couldn’t control. I fought this at first, of course. But eventually, I realized that the only thing I could control at the time was my attitude toward the situation. I decided to take this advice and surrender to the experience of being pregnant with twins.

I’m so thankful I did. Accepting what I did not have control over, deciding to trust my doctor and do everything in my power to remain calm was what got this previously terrified patient (and perhaps control freak?) through the crazy end of a twin pregnancy. While I, like every other birth story on here can say it did not go as the way I’d always hoped to give birth prior to getting pregnant, I can also say that, despite having many things go “wrong” at the end of a pregnancy, it’s still possible to have a really amazing experience. I really do attribute this to the rock bottom expectations I had around giving birth and just knowing that I wasn’t calling the shots.

My “birth” story probably really starts at 32 weeks when, after a pretty healthy twin pregnancy, I was sent to labor and delivery at my 32 week appointment. My doctor (now the OB I’d grown to trust) was concerned about my blood pressure, my ginormous feet, and some pre-term dilation. Somehow I knew that the babies were not coming that day, however. We spent two nights on the high risk floor, so that I could receive some steroids for lung development and a drug to stop the contractions. I was then put on bed rest for the next 10 days to get me to 34 weeks, which is when the doctors felt more comfortable with me delivering. Ten days later-no babies. So, I was allowed to return to work.

I was there for one day, and then sent home after I had protein in my urine at my next appointment. Back to bed rest until a preeclampsia diagnosis could be ruled out. 24-hour urine collection at home, loads of fun. And back to the hospital at 34 weeks and 5 days for my ever-increasing blood pressure. Another two nights in the hospital after my platelets were low and the doctors wanted to rule out HELLP syndrome. Another urine collection reveals a preeclampsia diagnosis-what the doctors were waiting for. The night before my 33rd birthday, an IV was started and I was told to fast, in preparation for surgery. (Our son, baby “A”, pretty much sat cross-legged, breech, for my entire pregnancy, and I’d, by this point, accepted a c-section.) I spent my birthday eating ice chips, waiting for the perinatalogist to approve a pre-36 week delivery, and after 18 hours, the doc finally shows up and gives the thumbs down. She wants me to stay in the hospital for another week, to get to 36 weeks.

Oh, hell no. There is no way I am spending another two nights on the high risk floor, then another seven laying here waiting for 36 weeks, then another four nights after a c-section. Only to return home and not sleep for the forseeable future. Not to mention, it took you 18 hours to tell me this?! (Those of you who have spent multiple nights in the hospital know how little they let you sleep while you’re there. During my first stay I was woken up at 3am so they could WEIGH me.) Ready to check myself out AMA, my own doctor fights for me to be on strict bed rest at home, checking my blood pressure multiple times per day, and coming in for monitoring. Deal. I can do that. Multiple close calls over the next week, but I make it to 35 weeks and six days.

Delivery

(My husband got up and went for a run at 4:30am the day of my surgery. He ran. I definitely appreciate the need he had to burn off nervous energy and somehow commemorate the day with a jog to the beach to watch the sunrise on the day our babies were born. But, I still find the irony hilarious: I hadn’t been able to walk more than the distance to and from the couch/bathroom in a month, and he went for a lovely early morning run. Love you, dear.) Everything was clockwork once we arrived to the hospital-well-oiled machine, despite my anxious tears throughout the entire pre-op process. Many of my fears were knocked down. Fear of going into labor and not getting the doctor I wanted? My doctor came in on her day off to do my surgery (and I could canonize her for this!). Fear of a bunch of old, male doctors who would be insensitive? Of the 17 or so doctors, NICU nurses, etc. who came in and out of the OR that morning, only two were male, and all 17 were great. Fear of throwing up on the table? My iron gut served me that day.

Things that are clear in my memory from the surgery: telling the anesthesiologist resident that I needed her to hang out right next to my head. Telling my doctor to distract me during the spinal with stories about the country concert she’d taken her daughter to a few days before. My husband getting to cut the cords of both babies and telling me our son “has dark hair like you” and our daughter is “light like me” with tears pouring out of his eyes. Asking my husband to take a photo of me on the table so that I had proof that I was there. Telling the OR staff to call our children by name and me Katie (as opposed to Katherine) so that I felt more comfortable throughout the surgery. The tilt of the operating table, supposedly to help bring blood pressure down. Not feeling pain until the very end when the docs pushed on my stomach to get blood clots out. Ouch.

Recovery

The previous hospital stay where I received steroids proved useful, and our son only needed to be in the NICU for one night and our daughter for two. We knew what an incredible blessing this was! I was put on a magnesium drip shortly after surgery, while we hung out in the post-anesthesia recovery area. Within minutes of starting the IV, I could barely finish a sentence without falling asleep. My husband still likes to tell the story of me, drugged up, while another woman was wheeled in right next to us, and gave birth after about ten minutes, unmedicated, as they were using the area as triage, so close to us, my husband could have caught the other woman’s baby. The first 36 hours or so were rough. Even though I was hell-bent on being the first person to hold our babies, and the NICU staff obliged, I was too drugged up from the magnesium drip to really know what was going on. I absolutely relate to another post on here about feeling out of place, as I watched our family come and go to the NICU with my husband. I kept saying I felt like I’d been in a car crash and was all beat up, but everyone else was celebrating and telling me about what my babies looked like. It was such an out of body experience. The pain was pretty awful during those first two nights, as well. It was absolutely traumatizing to go through such an experience and have my babies away somewhere, while others are able to go off and visit them, while I was groggy, in bed. I remember having dreams that people were sitting on me, pushing and pulling on my body. I had to ask anyone in our room to talk softly. It felt like sensory overload.

By the time the babies were released and were able to stay with us in our room, things had shifted dramatically. The nasty magnesium had finally made its way out of my system, and was able to do some skin-to-skin time with each of them and completely fell in love with my little babies. I still, 16 weeks later, feel like it was an out-of-body experience, and am oddly grateful to have a c-section scar to validate that I was there. I feel profoundly thankful that our babies were healthy, that I was able to conquer a boatload of lifelong fears about giving birth and that despite the drama of the previous month, things never escalated to emergency status. It was amazing to meet our son and daughter on the outside.

This is my fourth week back at work since the birth of our twins 13 weeks ago. In the weeks leading up to my return, I had many people offer support (sharing their stories of tearful returns to the workplace) and some asking if I was really going to go back. For much of my maternity leave, I felt this looming deadline. I wondered how I would feel once back at work. I’ve nearly always had two jobs since I was 19 years old, and for just as long, have known that I would return to work once I had kids. But, I also knew everything could possibly change once I met their little faces.

Four weeks ago now the deadline was in front of me. I re-entered the office that I left prematurely in June for a month of bed rest. I chuckled a little at the decaf keurig coffee pods in my desk drawer, and my eggless Caesar dressing in the fridge, along with other things I couldn’t ingest while pregnant. I noticed outdated paperwork and a card from my co-workers meant to be handed over in a shower that I missed due to sudden bed rest. But, ultimately, I was shocked by how easily I fell back into the flow of working. Granted, we did have our nanny start a week early, so that I could get to know her a bit. That definitely helped to ease back into the work force.

I always thought that I would feel guilt about returning to work. Instead, I felt guilt about how not guilty I felt. I mentioned this to a close friend, an attorney who is pregnant with her third baby and a working mom. She said, “Katie. I work so that I can afford a cleaning crew and a nanny.” My mom remarked, “Yes, we do need to work to afford these things.” My friend clarified: “No, I mean, I work so that I can justify getting help with my kids and cleaning and don’t have to do it all myself 24/7.” I applaud her honesty. It gave me permission to be more honest about my feelings on this subject.

Let me be clear. I am a feminist who is absolutely in awe and support of ANY moms, whether you are a SAHM, work multiple jobs, or have tons of help while you lie in bed and eat bon bons. I am not here to judge, and believe we need to create a society that celebrates all choices that moms make. I also recognize that I’m blessed that this is a “choice” for me, and that it’s not for many women. Not to mention, I’m aware that working a mile from home, with pretty sane hours make all this far easier of a decision. That said, with all the recent talk about “Leaning In,” and the like, this is one perspective. I already feel like a better mother when I am able to nurture other parts of my identity, in addition to the newest part called “mom.” I’m so grateful to have a job where I can go use the skills I learned in graduate school and in my work experience, and then go home and completely shift gears for the rest of the night. I look more forward to the nights and weekends when I can spend a few hours just staring at our daughter’s face light up or listening to my son coo. I get more excited to meet the needs of our little ones when (as Sadia brilliantly put it in a previous post about working) I’ve already met some of my own needs and am not looking to my babies to meet my needs. The whole oxygen mask on an airplane metaphor, you know.

I wonder if it’s reasonable to hope that someday our society will make space for women to say they want to be a working mom. Period. Without any qualifiers. Because, while I can write this somewhat anonymously for a blog, why is it that I’d still feel guilty sharing this around certain audiences?

Our twins are 8 weeks old today, and in the past 8 weeks, there have been countless topics I wanted to write about. Among them: how it’s possible to have a beautiful birth of your babies even after bed rest, preeclampsia and a magnesium drip, how no one REALLY explains how hard breastfeeding is to you before you have babies (much less, breastfeeding twins), and something about the sleep deprivation (if I had more sleep, I could have said that more articulately).

But, what has been the most difficult adjustment, and perhaps the only thing that has truly surprised me about being a new mom, is the grueling feeding schedule. Feeding two hungry mouths every three hours was much more challenging than I anticipated. For some reason, it didn’t occur to me that it would really require two adults to do so, and that it would take nearly the whole three-hour window before the next feeding to complete the cycle. All this made me start thinking about the timeframes I’ve been bound to in the last two years and how a biological clock isn’t just about trying to have kids before various risks increase.

Pregnancy

40 – The number of weeks all multiple pregnancies strive to get to.

38 – The number of weeks we all secretly could tolerate getting to.

35.6 – The number of weeks I made it to in my pregnancy.

32 – The number of weeks in my pregnancy before being put on bed rest.

28 – The number of weeks in my pregnancy before I really had any complications. (First one was pubic symphysis dysfunction, followed by preterm dilation, then preeclampsia.)

Infertility treatment

16 – The number of months we tried to get pregnant before our successful IVF treatment.

9 – The number of months I was on hormone treatments before getting pregnant.

10 – The number of weeks I took daily progesterone shots during pregnancy.

2 – The number of weeks in a cycle I felt I lived my life on before this: the two week wait to ovulate, then the two week wait to find out if I was pregnant.

Parenthood

3 – The number of hours between feedings.

1.5 – The number of hours I usually have between feedings to shower, feed myself, clean bottles or pump parts, close my eyes for a bit.

1 – The painfully slow number of hours it currently takes my daughter to finish a bottle.

I recall being anxious to get off of the “two week wait to ovulate/two week wait to find out if I was pregnant” schedule. Silly me. I didn’t realize how the scheduling would just take another form.

And I recognize that it will be this way always. It just will be a soccer practice, or school or day camp that is dictating my clock instead of ovulation or weeks of gestation.

In the meantime, my daily goal is to focus on the moment instead of when the clock will alert me to the next deadline. To try to appreciate my little ones in this very innocent, sweet time. To take the time to feel the love and support that has been brought into our house by all the visitors and family support, knowing the visits and support will someday end. To try to laugh at the things that sleep deprivation has caused us to do (ie, pumping without bottles attached for a good 3-4 minutes before feeling warm milk on my lap). To open my heart and my life to these two little beings I’m getting to know more and more each day.

What was your favorite memory of being in the moment when you first brought your babies home?

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